Final frame

I thought I was doing a good thing. I thought it was helping.

For a while, maybe it did.

Dad seemed to like having the journal, using the camera to take pictures. He'd always been into his photography, as long as I could remember. But it had fallen by the wayside.

Getting him the digital camera seemed to give him a new lease of life. As I say, for a while, anyway.

But looking at his journal entries again, I can see that maybe it made things too clear. The more he saw, the less he understood. Before, he was more confused...but perhaps less aware.

And now I don't know where he is.

This is the final picture he took. The only picture that was on the memory card. Someone found the camera at the bus stop and there was a sticker with my number on it.

Whether he got on the bus or just wandered off, nobody knows. The police are looking for him, but it's been days now.

And I don't know what to do.

It was hard to bear, knowing for sure he didn't recognise his own daughter.

But this feeling of dread, not knowing what's happened to him...well, I wish I'd never put that camera in his hands.



Begins here